No Work For Tinkers
by Ellie 5192
Summary: Sequel to A Little Light Music, Sharon/Andy, follows the events of season 2.5. "If wishes were horses..." - Just when it seems that everything is settled, life throws this dysfunctional little family another curve ball. Will they survive these uncertain times, and can they navigate through each crisis together? Is love enough when it is all that is left?
1. If Wishes Were Horses

_Alright. You got me. I got inspired enough to do it…_

_Sequel to A Little Light Music, Sharon/Andy, follows the events of season 2.5 with each chapter corresponding to each new episode. The last chapter will be in response to the final two episodes combined. Postings may be a little fractured in this festive season, but I've got a plan and I'm committed. Look at what you guys bring me to. _

_As always, my dedicated readers, I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think._

_**~No Work For Tinkers~**_

_**Chapter 1 : If Wishes Were Horses**_

He humphs, and slides onto the sofa, moving her outstretched legs over himself so that her knees rest over his lap as she reclines against the arm, a big pillow behind her back and her feet encased in her Ugg boots. She's long been in her sweats, and he would really like to join her. Her hand comes up to rub at his neck – at the little hairs there – as her elbow finds purchase along the back of the sofa. He hums and pushes his head into her hand, encouraging her, and she smiles at him.

"I think the patrol downstairs are starting to realise something is up with us. I brought them some doughnuts for the night, and the young one – what, Torres? – she winked at me. Winked! As though I was picking up at a bar or something"

She chuckles at him a little bit. "Oh honey", she sighs, patting his hair affectionately. "We both knew it'd get out some way. That's just the price we agreed to"

She sounds completely unworried, as though discussing the inevitability of turning leaves in autumn. This doesn't completely surprise him; since the increased threats of the letters, she's been far more concerned with how Rusty is feeling, and with maintaining a decent level of security, and not about some traffic kids getting rumour-worthy gossip about senior officers. At first he thought this strange of her, but she is first and foremost a pragmatist, and if there really was a problem with his constant visits then Taylor or even Emma would have said something. That neither of them have means they don't suspect or don't much care, or perhaps one of each. It's been a couple of weeks of increased security and so far not much of anything has changed.

Still, it doesn't displace the worry that lingers every time he walks out the door. She still won't tell him what was in the letters addressed to her, just that she'd had worse in her years in FID and that her main concern was Rusty. He's seen her shoot – he knows she's as capable as him at protecting herself and the boy – but the fact he can't move in to her place until this is finished sits like a stone in his gut. She may protect Rusty, but he wants nothing more than to protect her. She's so worried about everyone else, that he stresses she won't see danger to herself until it's too late. It makes him angry, and more than once she's had to pull him out of a bad mood.

But tonight he's just very tired after having been the first to a scene early that morning and run off his feet ever since. He groans again as her fingers start massaging his neck, and feels her sit up enough to plant a kiss against his cheek.

"You keep that up and I'll fall asleep right here" he mumbles, his eyes closed in comfort.

"And give young Torres more ammunition?" she asks with a smirk, her nails scrapping lightly.

"Like you said, they've got to talk about something, might as well be juicy"

She chuckles at him, light and soft, and then reclines back against her pillow as his hand runs up and down her calf in a motion much like her own on his neck. She hums, a contented little sound that he has come to love.

"I have my bag in the car, you know" he says. She makes an uncommitted noise – almost a hum, but not quite. He knows that she understands what he's saying without him saying it. "Say the word and I'll stay all night, Torres be damned"

"I know"

She's been so careful with how much he's stayed over, though really it doesn't make a difference one way or another. At first he'd offered to not stay at all; she'd made the case that it was as good as breaking up, since they could only see each other outside of work and she was bound to stay with Rusty and keep him safe. He couldn't stomach the idea of breaking up – or even going on a break until this was sorted – not after everything.

So here he sits, not sure he should stay but unwilling to leave; a cruel impasse only soothed by the surety of her touch lingering on the back of his neck, and by the weight of her legs over him. He's not going anywhere, not for the world.

"I wish you'd tell me" he whispers, his eyes still closed.

She shakes her head to herself and lets out a silent sigh. They've had this conversation countless times, and each time it's the same. She knows why he keeps pressing; knows he's just waiting for her to crack, or to catch her in a moment of weakness.

Honestly, she just can't tell him. She's been on the other side of this – she's been the one holding the ransom, waiting for more information, waiting to hear if he's okay or if she'll never see him again. She's been the one making the tough call about an operation that could save or could kill in equal measure. To put those thought in his head, and to show him the incredibly vague and yet immensely sinister letters; to allow his already angry mind to envision the many ways this writer wants to hurt her and Rusty is something she won't do to him.

If she could accept his comfort and have his shoulder, she would. But she can't make him carry that, no matter how much she wants to. She must remain in control, for herself and for her boy down the hall. Instead she leans forward again, places a palm on his cheek, and kisses him soundly. His hand tightens where it rests on her knee, and they stay there for a long while, lips touching and half entwined.

Rumours be damned, he'll be staying over tonight, and if Taylor wants to throw the book at them, so be it. If someone is going to hurt his new and tenuous family, then they'll have to go through two armed and pissed-off cops to do it.

They part when they hear the tell-tale click and squeak of Rusty's bedroom door, and listen as he pads frantically across the hall and into the bathroom. A moment later the toilet flushes and he re-emerges much more calmly, stopping in the hall. "Hi Flynn" he calls, before padding back into his room and closing the door again.

Andy can only laugh to himself, meeting Sharon's shining eyes.

"I feel so loved" he quips.

"You are – that's more than I get some days, and it's my house"

He only grins at her and shakes his head. "He still not talking to you?"

"We've had words. But I've yet to get a full sentence out of him since I revoked television privileges after the last slip"

"Does he get at all why he can't ditch his security?"

She shrugs and rolls her eyes while quirking her head. "I think he understands it logically. Mostly he just thinks I'm smothering him. I don't mean to imprison him in his own home"

He can only grin again and pat her knee. "Well then, can you at least point me in the direction of food? I'm starving, and I haven't eaten since lunch"

"Poor baby" she mumbles, hoisting herself up and pulling him up too. They walk together to the kitchen and she points absently to the fridge as she sets her kettle to boil. "See what's left over. We had pasta with meat in it, but I think there's some veggies and eggs if you wanted to make an omelette"

"I'll just have the pasta" he says quietly. She cocks an eyebrow at him and gives him a look. He only shrugs. "It's not like I _can't_ eat meat, I just choose not to. One time won't hurt"

"Okay" she drawls. She still looks half suspicious at him. "Just don't go blaming me for altering your diet"

"Hey, I only went veg a few years ago, you're not altering anything. And besides, my doctor thinks that it might be good to reintroduce some foods every now and then"

"Okay then" she says passively, calming him. She's obviously too relaxed tonight to bother arguing, even in jest. Perhaps, he thinks, Rusty has had a good night and wasn't bugging her so much. Perhaps she's just in a really good headspace and doesn't want to leave it.

He puts his food in the microwave and presses a few buttons as the kettle starts to hiss. She grabs a used cup from the sink, already rinsed out, and a second cup from her never-ending cupboard that he swears is made of the same stuff and Mary Poppin's handbag, otherwise how else would she have a new mug every single day. He tells her as much and it makes her chuckle, and he takes that as a win.

He leans back against the bench as he watches her grab various teabags and sugar bowls from around the kitchen, oblivious to his watchful eye. This domestic Sharon is a rare creature – she often wears jeans at home, and hardly ever has her hair pulled back so haphazardly. He likes to watch her, so open and relaxed in a way she never is at work.

"You keep staring like that and you might set me on fire" she mutters, pouring the hot water into each mug.

"You set me on fire" he replies smoothly, wrapping his arms around her waist, careful to wait until the kettle is safely settled back on the stove.

She laughs at him - scoffs really – and replies, "Oh, you are full of some lines, you really are"

She doesn't resist him when he holds her tight and kisses her temple, one of her hands on his arm and the other absently dunking the teabag a few more times. They take a moment to just stand there. She feels so safe having him around. It's disconcerting to feel such a need after half a lifetime alone. She didn't expect to have such a fundamental part of her change when she allowed herself to let him in, but change it did. Now she can't imagine not having someone to share these quiet and intimate moments with.

"I just want to wrap you up in bed and not let you out until this creep is found" he whispers into her hair. He's lost some of the anger of before, and in its wake there is only frustration and a fair amount of vulnerability. She sighs against him. She knows what he means. It's so annoying – really _annoying_ –to have to carry on as though nothing is wrong when there could be any number of dangers around the corner. She wishes these threats would either come to fruition or go away; this waiting is really starting to piss her off. It's not an enemy he can fight for her, and she knows that adds to his angst. She loves him more for taking on that worry, even though he shouldn't have to.

She turns in his arms, kisses him softly, and then steps away and gestures to his tea, taking hers in the process. "Come join me on the couch before lights out"

He nods and follows her, and they fall onto the couch together, side by side, both flicking their feet onto the coffee table. He throws an arm around her shoulders and she sighs against him. Without the radio or television on they can hear the faint strains of Rusty's music floating down the hall from his room. She'll knock on his door to get him to go to bed when they do. As it is, he should be going to sleep, but she's not about to enforce the lights-out rule in his room under the current circumstances.

They sip quietly at their drinks for a while, and it feels very content, despite knowing there are at least four police surrounding her building at any one time.

"So, has he said it again?" he asks after a while.

"What, Rusty?"

"Yeah"

"Said what?"

"You know…" he says, waving his hand about near her ear, the other still holding his cup. She takes a moment to understand his meaning, and then suddenly she's grinning to herself, her lips pursed and her eyes shining at the happy memory. He had taken her so much by surprise that sometimes she's sure she must have dreamt it. But she hadn't.

"Not since the other day, no he hasn't. Honestly, I don't expect him to. That was big enough as it is without me adding pressure"

"Sharon, the boy adores you, and he knows what you do for him. Are you really so surprised that he told you he loves you, finally?"

She smiles again at the explicit mention. "Well yes, a little. At least that he said it outright. I don't doubt his feelings; I'm just shocked that he was so open with me when he's been clinging so hard to his mother"

Andy rocks her closer with his arm, and plants a kiss against her hair. "You are his mother. In every way that counts, you are his mother"

She hums at him with a smile. She knows that. And she knows that Rusty knows that, at least in his way. Lately she's been thinking of him as her son – no caveats or conditions, just 'her son', like he's always had that little piece of her heart. Perhaps a little bit different to Ricky, who fed at her breast and took first steps in her arms and called her 'Da' for a few weeks as an infant. But Rusty is her son nonetheless. She couldn't love him more if he was her flesh and blood. It makes her feel positively giddy to know he loves her right back. Perhaps one day she'll have the right way to show him just how much he means to her. She hopes he doesn't think her love will end when he hits eighteen, because he doesn't have to go anywhere, and her love for him is unconditional.

"I wish his life was so much easier" she mutters. "-that he didn't have to go through any of this"

"Everything that's happened to that boy has led him here, to you. It's a sacrifice, but you are worth it. You two have each other now"

"I can't be grateful for the life he lived before he came to me" she says, thinking again of all the horrible details Rusty would never –_could _never – tell to her face, but that she knows anyway.

"No, maybe not. But you can at least be thankful that he's here now"

"Oh I am. Believe me. This Thanksgiving all I could think was… well, you know"

Andy rocks her close again and nods. "Did you have any more luck with that therapy business?"

"I think so, I found a Dr Bowman who looks promising. He lists unconventional and 'fun' activities as his way of getting patients to open up. Since this is just an evaluation, if he's willing to play chess then he might be just what Rusty is looking for"

"The kid up for it?"

"The kid doesn't have a choice" she quips, pulling herself off the couch and taking both their mugs to the kitchen. Andy just smirks at her and shakes his head as he follows her half way and stops by the table. "I'm hoping that if these sessions go well then it might inspire him to continue to talk with someone about his past, but even if it doesn't, I still think the evaluations can do him some good"

"Well, you know best" he mutters at her back as she puts the dishes in the dishwasher. She only straightens and smirks at him, then walks around the bench.

"So, about your bag that's in the car…" she says, a sly look on her face.

"Okay, so maybe it's that one by the door"

"Maybe?"

"And maybe I brought it up with me when I first came inside"

"Mmm. And how did you get inside, by the way?"

"I might have used the spare key you gave me when you had the locks changed"

She's outright grinning at him now, walking slowly backwards towards her room with her tongue resting against her teeth. She manages to turn the lights off as she goes without missing a beat. She turns around and disappears down the hall as he collects the bag from the front door. He hears her knock on Rusty's door, poke her head in to say goodnight, and then a moment later Rusty is at the doorway. They are speaking lowly to each other, so he can't quite make it out, but he sees that the boy is frustrated and Sharon is understanding, and it's probably the same conversation they've had a million times before.

She sighs, a sad little sound that Andy hears despite himself, just before she wraps her arms around Rusty's shoulders in a protective hug. "I just wish I knew how to keep you safe" she says, and Rusty only buries his face into her shoulder, shrugging in response. They all know that if things could be different they would be – that if Sharon had another answer she would tell him and take away his burden. It's hard enough as it is for her to contemplate option three, knowing he could be put in harm's way.

They mutter a few more words to each other and she places her hand briefly on his cheek before he spins around and disappears into his room again, the door closing behind him. The music turns down a second later.

"So, does that mean I'm on the couch, or-"

She cuts him off with a firm kiss, her hand behind his neck, and takes his hand to lead him to her room, both smiling all the way. Despite the encounter in the hall she's still in good spirits, buoyed by his presence and the security surrounding them. She pulls him lightly in the direction of her door.

"Oh, so your room then"

She just chuckles at him and closes the door softly behind her as he starts kicking off his shoes. Most days now he worries about them both, but there are some select moments when he doesn't have a single care in the world. Sharon Raydor taking her hair tie out with that particular look is one of them.


	2. Then Beggars Would Ride

_Sorry for the delay. As predicted the holidays have been extraordinarily busy, and usually without my computer. Future chapters will continue to be a bit sporadic, but I'm still here, and I will finish this story, probably a couple of weeks after the last episode of the season. _

_This chapter is set immediately after 2x13 'Jailbait'. _

_As always, to my readers, enjoy, that's what we're here for, and to my reviewers, I know I don't show you nearly enough love but know that I treasure every word that you take the time to write. You're a gift. _

_**Then beggars would ride**_

"Just once I'd love for you guys to bring me a case that isn't such an emotional clusterfuck"

Sharon smirks rather humourlessly as Andrea huffs and leans down to pick up her shoulder bag. Her office is quiet in the aftermath of this case; the detectives scattered to deal with each loose end.

Both women watch Sanchez walk out into the murder room and begin the process of packing up the board with Tao. The two of them are silent and sombre, and she can't blame them, not really. These types of cases – the one's where the only options are a little less justice or a little more legality – are always the hardest. Especially for a cop. And as a mother she is hurting.

"It's never my intention to screw up your day, Andrea" she replies. Her tone is light, even if the mood is not, and Andrea smiles at her in acknowledgement.

"And for that, I am grateful. So what are you going to do about the wife and daughter?"

"I don't believe any charges will be laid for the sucker punch, but Andy and Provenza are in with them now. We'll get their statements and then… well, I guess we'll have to leave them to their grief"

"It just astounds me, you know" says Andrea, setting herself right as she moves towards the door. "The lengths people go to in order to delude themselves. She actually blames the father for recognising the sins of the son? What is that?"

She's not entirely sure how that woman thinks, so she doesn't know what to say to explain her. "I don't know. I'm thankful I am not in her position. But I don't think I could ever blind myself to my son's actions if I knew he was as much of a predator as that boy was"

"Just be grateful you'll never have to find out"

Andrea spins on her heel and is out the door with a nod before Sharon can fully comprehend what she is saying. It might be a veiled reference to the boy just down the hall; to the fact that he's not a monster despite all he's been through. But she chooses to take it as a general statement, and a reassurance that none of Sharon's children are in any way off the rails. Her comment might even be a subtle kudos on her parenting, and if it is then she's secretly pleased. She and Andrea have always had an amenable and cooperative working relationship, and they've shared enough work-day lunches to have the bare bones of each other's story. Andrea is at the very least a work friend. It's nice to think she feels the same.

But that doesn't mean she's aware of Sharon's current lover.

Oh, she's aware something is going on - she is not so ignorant as to not see that. But any details get shut down under a feigned ruse of sheepishness; Sharon only tells her that it's not really ready to be discussed. After this long, perhaps there is the understanding that it's more of a sexual dalliance than a relationship. Either way Andrea always seems half amused and half pleased, especially in light of Jack's latest visit. And no matter what she may think is happening, she doesn't suspect that it's with Andy, and that's the main point.

So caught up in her daydreaming, she doesn't notice said lover entering her office until the lock clicks behind him.

"All good?" she asks.

"All good"

If they'd needed her, they would have called. They've all worked together long enough now that she doesn't feel the need to hover like she might have done in the early days.

"The kid okay with Doctor Joe?"

"I haven't seen him yet"

"They still going? I thought it was supposed to be done an hour ago"

She hums in affirmation, but smirks just a little and looks towards the cubicle they are hiding in. She can't see anything of course, but it helps to confirm her suspicions given neither of them have walked out. "I get the feeling – and I might be wrong – but something tells me that Rusty convinced him to stick around and try out a few games with him. He's been starved of any decent opposition since he had to quit after-school chess club, and Doctor Joe is a formidable player"

Andy can only chuckle to himself and shake his head, pulling out the guest chair in front of her desk. He plonks down into it and eyes her with amusement. She meets his look with one of her own; she can't stop the grin on her face, and she's not sure why.

"How are things holding up at home?" he asks.

"The same. He's restless, and he doesn't fully understand the position he's in. He thinks he does, but he doesn't. There's not much I can say to convince him of the seriousness of the situation, so for the moment I'm playing bad guy"

"Familiar role?"

"Like an old glove"

He grins wider at her. She keeps a subtle eye on the men out in the murder room, though nobody is paying them any attention.

"He's just got to accept that it's your way of the highway" says Andy with a shrug. "If life had gone a thousand different ways, he wouldn't be here – with you, in this city, maybe even alive. He's lucky he landed where he is, even if he thinks it sucks"

"Oh, I don't doubt that for a moment. I am grateful, you know that. But there's little use in trying to convince a teenage boy that his situation is as good as it gets"

"I'm sure the Stones had a song about that"

She throws her head back and laughs. They most certainly did, and the number of times she has sung it to her children can't be counted. These days they tend to launch into song without a single prompt from her.

Without warning, Provenza pops his head in the door. "Hobbs is just wrapping up with dad and his lawyer now, and Sykes is almost done with statements from the psycho-wife and daughter. If you two wanted to organise food" And with that, he disappears again, leaving no room for negotiation.

Both Sharon and Andy can only shake their heads with bemusement, eyes wide, and laugh a little as the door closes swiftly behind him.

"So…" starts Andy, again looking at her. They are still smiling. "Pizza or Chinese?"

She laughs a little at him. "You're such a New Yorker" she says. She's really quite fond of that. "I say Chinese"

"You're the boss"

"You want pizza instead?"

"No, no, I don't mind, your call. I'll just go ask the others"

"Okay" she says, nodding with a soft look on her face, a twinkle in her eye. "You know what I'll have"

He's not entirely sure, actually, because she has a few favourite dishes, and none of them correspond to a particular mood; she eats whatever she fancies at any given moment. He's not sure how he's supposed to guess exactly what she wants, but if she was being picky today she would have said something, so he just gives her a thumbs up as he walks out her door, leaving it open in his wake. She smiles after him, almost wistfully, lost in her thoughts for a moment.

Sometimes it still surprises her, the easy familiarity between them. It's profound to be wrapped around him, whether in the throes of passion or a comforting embrace. It's shocking to wake up some mornings with a softly snoring body pressed against her, after so many contented years waking alone, the blankets all her own. But it's the little gestures too that take her by surprise, even now, even after their honeymoon period came and went without notice. They no longer question, nor do they feel the need to clarify their position in each other's lives. Most of the kinks have been worked out, and their lingering concerns over being discovered have eased the longer they go without repercussions. Perhaps it's naïve of them to let their guard down, and they are more cautious than ever about safety in the wake of the letters, but given how comfortable everyone is around them, she feels no need to worry.

Maybe they already know. If that's the case they don't seem to care, or pay them the slightest bit of attention. Other than the occasional look from Provenza – innocent, really, in the grand scheme of things – their days at work are unimpeached by rumours, gossip or even friendly speculation. Days go on as they always have. Nobody mentions how much time they inevitably spend together outside of work; everyone in the office socialises in their own way.

And if they don't know, then it is testament to discretion and Provenza's willingness to let them be; to Taylor's lack of care factor regarding their personal time; to Emma's eventual acceptance of the status quo with Rusty.

The longer they go on together, uncompromised at work and happy at home, the more confident she becomes that they really are in this for keeps, and can make it work.

Again, it may be naivety, and it's true she never truly lets her guard down – not after a lifetime of disappointing romance and heartbreaking love – but it's lovely to feel so secure, if only for a moment.

When the food arrives an hour later (after all the statements have been taken and one of the team had volunteered to go collect it from down the street) Sharon almost laughs as Doctor Joe and Rusty both emerge from behind the partition of the side office. They both look half dazed, a little bit like deer in headlights. Rusty actually rubs his eyes at the change in lighting.

Though gracious for the offer, Doctor Joe excuses himself with a friendly smile and a handshake, insisting that he's stayed late as it is. Rusty thanks him, and she can see that the boy has really warmed up to his doctor, even if he won't admit it. The late afternoon makes this meal neither lunch nor dinner, but nobody seems to mind. They never do, when it's a victory meal at the end of another successful case, no matter how harrowing.

"So how did it go?" she asks Rusty. Though she speaks only loud enough for him to hear, the subtle shift from the others tell her they are half listening in. They are not very good at hiding that, she thinks, for life-long investigators.

"He's okay. Gave me a stack of paperwork to fill out which is a giant waste of time, but he can play chess, so it was fine"

"You had a few more games?" she asks. She'll probe the therapy itself when they are back home and he feels less backed into a corner.

"Yeah, and he's crazy good. I think he went easy on me, too, which is annoying because he had a clock and pulled out the big moves and everything. It was great"

"That's good. I'm glad"

"Of course, I might have been able to match him if I'd been allowed to practice with other people sooner" he says pointedly. She only smirks without looking at him, not rising to his bait as she goes through the plastic bag and fishes out chopsticks for herself. Everyone else looks a mix of amused and exasperated, which makes it harder for her to hold her composure; it's like one big running joke between them all, and if it wasn't their lives at stake she'd find it genuinely funny.

"I offered to play a few games" says Sykes.

Rusty groans and throws his head back dramatically, and walks away, plonking at a desk as far away from her as possible, as the rest of them try not to laugh too obviously.

She makes her way over to a spare seat next to Andy, and they all eat in comfortable silence, the occasional comment or question being tossed around, but really they're all happy to just chill out. They'll wait for the paperwork to be finished on the DA's deal, sign off the last of the reports, and then close the case for good, all in time to go home and see whoever it is they see. She hears Tao mention his son, and takes a moment to be thankful that she was not in this position when her children were growing up. As thankful as she is for the career opportunity, it's hard enough with a teenager as self-reliant as Rusty, let alone raising two on her own, without the extended family of the squad to help. The very thought tires her, and her heart goes out to Mike and how hard they all work at such erratic hours. The only one of them with any reprieve today is Buzz, who has the luxury of not having to fill out half as many reports if his services are not needed. He has already gone home for the day, and she's secretly jealous.

She looks back at Rusty, and ponders their conversation from last night. She thinks she may have gotten through to him, as resistant as he is. She's glad the meeting had gone well today, and that Doctor Joe was such a hit; she really wants Rusty to start to become more self-aware of his emotions. For someone so young she can only imagine how hard that will be, but without intervention now, who knows what damage may go unaddressed. She doesn't want his recent traumas to haunt him forever, and if playing a few high-level games of chess can help with that then all the better.

He is looking thoughtfully around the room, a look of almost gratitude on his face, and she wonders what he is thinking behind that flighty gaze. She can't quite make out what his expression means. She gets the feeling that something is sitting uncomfortably under his skin – perhaps a realisation or earlier conversation come back to him. The few hours between now and when she will eventually approach him will hopefully be enough for him to feel open to talking to her, and if not she can respect that. Doctor Joe seemed like a no-nonsense kind of guy, and if he has opened fresh wounds or exposed inconvenient truths, then she will understand any reticence Rusty has to being open with her about them.

Still, the fact that these subjects are broached in the first place is a good first step, she thinks, painful as it is. Accepting there is a problem is, after all, the first step to finding a solution.

From beside her she notices a questioning glance, and she looks over her shoulder at Andy, his chopsticks half way to his mouth. She shakes her head just enough to convey that everything is fine for the moment, and he takes that at face value. There are few peaceful moments anymore, and this is certainly one of them; a welcomed break from murder, letters, security, unforeseen threats. In the wake of all that, the meal is positively blissful. She will talk with him later, if her thoughts are still bothering her then.

It's hard to believe the threat is still out there. Her frustration lingers the more time that goes between correspondences, and just when she thinks they might be in the clear another comes down the pipe line. Rusty is understandably not being kept in the loop as to the number or nature of these; God only knows what drastic measures he would take to if he felt his presence was causing the problem, or if he felt he was putting her in harm's way. So instead she has to deal with a huffy teenager and a constant detail at her home and office.

But it doesn't really bother her, because a single reminder of the stakes is all it takes to calm her.

It's a small price to pay, really, much as she wishes it was all over and done with. As the song goes, she can't always have what she wants, and for the moment this is what she needs.

"Hey Rusty" calls Sanchez. "Did you steal all the spring rolls again?"

"I do not eat all the spring rolls, that was all Flynn's fault" he calls back, indignant and playful in one. "I don't even like spring rolls"

"Well we know that's a lie" grumbles Provenza. He's buried elbow deep in the plastic bag, searching for the chilli dipping sauce for said missing rolls. "And who took the damn bag of crackers? I didn't get any last time and I today want double or I'm revoking printer privileges for everyone… oh, ugh, except you Captain"

She laughs at him merrily, waving her chopsticks in friendly dismissal. Someone mutters 'teacher's pet' – it might be Sykes – but Provenza doesn't pay them any attention.

"I don't think they put crackers in" says Mike around his mouthful.

"Again?" asks Andy, piping up from the corner with a mouth full of broccoli. "That's it, we're not going back there again, that's twice they've forgotten something important, I say we try that other place on the next block"

"Oh, quit your grumbling would you, you got your damn veggie bonanza" says Provenza, waving him off.

"My grumbling? Is that the pot calling the kettle black again?"

Provenza only huffs at him and gives up his search. The rest of them barely contain their giggles at their antics. Sharon catches Andy's eye and grins at him, and he gives her a private look in return, just subtle enough that nobody is the wiser.

She looks up just in time to catch a funny look on Rusty's face – a mix of fondness and grief. Again, she can't decipher it, and she wonders just what Doctor Joe talked about. The boy looks like he's both elated and sad to be among them; like he's grateful to be loved by them but unsure why he is. She thinks it must be hard to accept such blind friendship after a lifetime of suspicion. She thinks he needs these easy moments as much as the rest of them do, if only for different reasons.

That she can facilitate these moments – these blinks of normality – warms her heart. If anyone deserves this it's Rusty. She can't stop herself smiling into her curry as a wave of sentiment washes over her, and she is reminded again why taking him in was the single best decision she could have made.

It's not ideal, this situation they are in, but it's what they've got, and she's determined to make the most of it.


	3. If Turnips Were Swords

_The chapter follows on from episode 2x14, set the night after that episode wraps up._

_Thank you all for your wonderful words of encouragement, and to every reader a hearty Welcome Back. Your support means a great deal to me, and I appreciate it._

_Enjoy._

_**If Turnips Were Swords**_

They're walking back to his car arm in arm, and after such a wonderful evening she's positively giddy. She always enjoys the ballet; ever since she was a girl doing classes for fun she has been mesmerised by the stage. That and the fact it's Christmas – her most favourite time of year – and this night truly could not get better.

"So how did you like it?" he asks her.

Her hand is resting in the crook of his elbow as he walks them away from the theatre entrance. Nicole had left them at the door to go track down her step-sons, asking belatedly if Andy could come for lunch the next time he was free on the weekend. Such a small and innocent request from her had visibly buoyed him, and he'd assured her again and again that he would call. Sharon knows that he'll call this week, before Nicole's mother can plant doubt, or a case can ruin the opportunity. She's already resolved that if she doesn't need him on point, she'll give him the day off.

"Oh, I love that production" she replies on a happy sigh. "Every time I see it, I like it more and more"

"Really? I would have thought you'd be sick of it by now - hasn't your daughter been in a show of The Nutcracker?"

"Of course. It was one of her very first professional level performances. But it's still my favourite at this time of year. Such a lovely story"

He scoffs at her in good humour and shakes his head. She's off in the clouds tonight, swept away by the spectacle of it all. He can imagine her, young and similar to how she is now, her feet encased in pointe shoes, her arm outstretched in a move he can't name. He thinks she would have made a beautiful dancer – even in her heals she is light on her feet, and there's no denying she has the slight frame custom made for the job. He's seen pictures of her daughter; knows her to be a mini-me of her mother. Knows that the love for the art was definitely in her blood.

"I think the boys did well" he says. He actually has no idea if the boys have left feet or not. But Sharon had cooed so enthusiastically with Nicole that he figures they must have potential; his new son-in-law had beamed when Sharon mentioned how well-balanced they were on their feet. She had encouraged them to keep the boys enrolled, and that's indication enough that they must have done well tonight.

"They did so well" she insists. The car is parked just down the street, but he gestures to a place still open for coffee and she nods, so they change direction slightly and head that way. "I really think they could be beautiful dancers. Noah is very agile on his feet, and Ben is so lean"

"Underfed" he mutters. She pointedly ignores him. Ben takes after his mother – a woman so naturally slight that her bones protruded, if Nicole's story is to be believed. The woman passed away when Ben was a newborn, but lives on in her youngest. Any bulk on that boy will have to be earned, for sure. Noah is stockier – takes after his dad – but they are both so young and run around outside a lot, so he is quick and bouncy, and flexible in that way children often are. She thinks he'd be more suited to ball sports for all his pent up energy, but for the moment he is holding his own on stage, so she will let time tell instead of mentioning anything to Nicole.

"But you know" she continues, holding him back just before the walk into the coffee place. "You didn't need to create this ruse about ballet knowledge just to get me to come"

She is smiling at him fondly. He knows she sees right through him, and while it's sometimes frustrating, mostly he feels okay with being caught out. He just smiles back.

"I had to make it look good for the squad. Can't have them getting the idea that we're going on dates, now, can we?"

She huffs a light laugh at him. "Oh I see, so it was for their benefit?"

"Of course. They already know I took you to Nic's wedding. If I didn't have a good reason for taking you tonight they might get suspicious. And besides, it meant that someone would offer right away to take Rusty"

She shakes her head at him. She thinks he is equal parts pathetic and adorable, and doesn't have the words to explain just how endearing she finds him. "Firstly, you know Provenza would have taken Rusty for burgers, even if I'd asked him personally. And second, why would the squad care if you brought me? Do you think they haven't noticed how close we are?"

The look of sheer panic that momentarily creeps on his face makes her hold in a sudden fit of laughter, her lips pursed and her eyes wide. His demeanour changes instantly, and for a brief second his eyes dart around, searching for a familiar face that is going to catch them in the act. Of course, they've just found seats inside, so unless the elderly Italian gentleman at the bar is going to rat them out, there is no threat here.

"Andy" she giggles, swatting his arm and urging him to sit across from her. He lowers himself slowly into the chair. "Calm down, nobody is watching"

"Aren't you worried?" he hisses. "You're the one always going on about propriety and subtly"

"Just because the team know we spend time together outside of work, doesn't mean they're suspicious. And besides, even if they were, do you really think they'd say anything? We've been doing this" she gestures between them. "- for almost eighteen months now"

"It hasn't been eighteen months" he says, brow furrowed as he mentally tries to backtrack to the harrowing few days he was kidnapped, when their torrid little affair truly began.

"If you consider the months we danced around our feelings, which you have to admit was not very subtle"

"Well, when Provenza comes in telling you to pull your finger out of your ass and do something about it, I think you can safely assume subtly is out the window"

She giggles again at him, and at the memory of learning that Provenza was the first to notice what neither of them would admit. It seems so long ago now – those uncertain days of flirting around one another and pretending they didn't feel the spark between them. Of bringing each other tea and coffee as a sign of affection. Days of wanting, and hurting, and such fierce confusion for both of them, caught by the circumstances of their jobs and her marriage, and by the realities of a secret affair. The days that followed more than make up for it, but she can still feel the cold terror of his kidnap and rescue; can still hear the echo of his declaration of love as a gun was held to his head.

She smiles at him now, healthy and whole, as he grins at her.

"I'd love to see the look on his face if I just kissed you right in the middle of the squad room" he says, smiling at the notion. He never would, not while they're being careful. But one day he fully intends to tell the rules to kiss his arse, and when that day comes, the first thing he's doing is kissing her senseless in front of everybody.

"You know what, maybe one day I might just let you" she counters. He fully intends to hold her to that. He likes that he brings out this side of her. Sometimes he wonders at himself, that he didn't see how light and silly she can be; that he never paid attention to the moments when she was so human and so vulnerable. He was never looking for them of course – she was the enemy on their turf, come to stir up trouble – but upon reflection they were always there, in the ways she would spar with Chief Johnson, and get emotional over particular cases, and the year they spent Christmas together in the squad room. He was too busy being angry at her to ever see how lovable she really is, and he could kick himself for that now, if only because of the missed opportunity for her friendship.

They quickly order tea and a small pastry to share, and spend a little while in comfortable silence, watching the night-time traffic drive past. Andy lets his thoughts wander and surprises himself when they turn pensive and a little bit dark. He can't help but consider if the letter writer is in one of those cars; can't stop himself from considering that he's standing now, across the street, taking secret photos to scare them with later.

Since she won't tell him what's in the letters against her, he can only imagine the threats, and his mind naturally makes them far worse than reality. She has assured him again and again that she is safe. She has told him of some of the other threats she has received throughout her career, and how much worse they were, and how even then she was safe. As though they were the same thing; as though angry and vengeful cops equate to an unknown threat controlled by Phillip Stroh himself.

Nothing she says ever makes him feel better, although he does trust that she wouldn't put herself at unnecessary risk. He only wishes he could go and find the sick son of a bitch himself, vigilante-style. Not that doing so is a practical decision, but it beats sitting around just waiting for something to happen. His teeth are on edge all the time, and he doesn't like it.

"Hey. You still with me?"

He hums, questioning, as he turns back to her, shaken from his reverie by her light voice and a hand on his arm. She has a puzzled expression on her face, curious and slightly worried, like she's trying to figure him out. He must have looked spaced out, because when he doesn't immediately answer her grip twitches on his arm just a little bit, and she tilts her head.

"Andy, what's wrong?"

"No, nothing"

He can see that he hasn't fooled her. "Really, what is it?"

"I was just thinking"

"About what?" she asks softly. She doesn't rib him, and he can see that he's put her into a caring mood, and while he's sorry to have broken the playfulness of earlier, he sighs to himself; she won't let this drop now, so he might as well start talking.

"I just worry about you, is all" he says, placing his hand on top of hers where it rests on his arm. He threads their fingers, and she lets him hold her hand properly.

"What for?" she asks, smiling at him, her brow still crinkled a little in confusion.

"I just sometimes get in these moods where I stress that a bad guy is hiding in a shrub. It's fine"

Her look is scrutinising now, no longer light or attempting to be ignorant. He knows he sounds a little bit crazy, like he's developing paranoia or something equally irrational. It's not that; he just doesn't want anything to happen to her, and given how emotionally invested he is, his feelings are amplified and projected tenfold. He can't stop himself.

"Andy, what are you talking about?" she asks. Her gaze is piercing in that way that makes it feel like she's seeing straight into his soul. He never knows how to handle the intensity of her eyes when she becomes so fully invested in dissecting someone; he hasn't quite mastered the art of being unaffected by it. He's not sure he ever wants to be, either, which is somewhat disconcerting, but not surprising in the end.

"I'm just scared of losing the best thing that's ever happened to me" he admits, and he must be overly sentimental tonight or something, because now that he's started he can't stop himself, and the words just flow on a hushed whisper, almost frantic. "If I could make it all better, you know I would, in a heartbeat. I would. I wish I could just have one night out with you where I don't look over my shoulder, but until that psycho is caught, Sharon, I'm going to worry about you, I can't help it"

She shushes him gently, caressing his arm on the table, but any response is cut short by the arrival of the tea. She thanks the waitress, and he stares furiously at the table-top, unable to look at her after his outburst. There's so much more he wants to say to her, yet he feels like he said too much already. She takes his hand back, ignoring her drink, and he is eventually compelled to meet her eye.

"I'm fine" she whispers to him, so earnest that it hurts him. "I'm safe here with you, and we've had a beautiful night, and I'm not going anywhere" She punctuates the last three words with such vehemence that it truly calms him, if only a little. She is so sure, so steady in a crisis. Yin to his yang, in every way that counts.

"I can't do anything, and it's killing me" he whispers. He sounds desperate and broken. He doesn't like it, the way this situation is making him into one of those possessive and unattractive men, who insist on locking their women up at night, like a precious ring to be put back in the safe. She is not his play thing, yet he still feels that undeniable tug of another kid trying to steal his toy car at lunchtime. Only this time it's the boy's life in the balance and her throwing herself in the firing line, and he has no tools to battle with; not even his fists. He has to wait. He's never been very good at inaction. He never learned how to sit still, or calm his temper, or stay rational once his heart took over.

Essentially, he is not like her, and it makes him furious.

"Andy, you have to stop letting this consume you. You have to stop" she says. Her eyes look so very worried, and her voice is so soft. He hates that he's distracting her and making her think about him, but as soon as she speaks he again calms down, and he marvels at that response. A simple touch and he is all better.

"I'm sorry" he whispers. "I'm sorry, I'll stop. You're right"

He takes a deep breath, his eyes closed, her hand in his hand, and after a moment he feels more centred. He comes back into himself, and it must be a palpable change because when he opens his eyes again she is looking at him quizzically, but no longer like she thinks he's lost mind.

He looks at her and smiles, and the corner of her mouth quirks back at him. All is calm again.

"Just know that if I could fight this for you-"

"I know" she says with a tender look. "You'd storm the castle and slay the dragon"

"You sayin' I'm Shrek?" he scoffs.

"There is certainly a comparison to be made" she says, barely containing her grin as she releases his hand to pick up her tea. He does the same, and it is so light between them that it's as though the last few moments didn't happen.

"You better watch it, Shrek's missus is an ogre too, if you recall"

"Now who better watch it" She glares at him over the rim of her cup. He winks at her and takes a sip of his own tea. He can see the smirk that she's trying to hide, and okay so maybe two people their age shouldn't know so much about Shrek, but he really thinks it's funny.

"But Sharon, you are beautiful" he mocks, batting his eyes. She giggles at him, knocking her foot against his shins lightly in reproach, and he lets himself laugh. He also lets his worries fade away and become tomorrow's problem, and decides to himself that tonight will be only happy memories involving his family. Maybe he's fooling himself, but for a few blissful hours he wants to forget about the boogeyman hiding in the shrubs. He wants to pretend that it really will be okay, and that they are safe and sound, and that everything is normal.

Sharon seems fine with this plan. In fact, Sharon seems to think this is the smartest thing he's come up with all evening, if her lingering smile is any indication. And after all, who is he to argue with his Princess Fiona.


End file.
